


The Only Woman He Ever Saw (Opened Up His Eyes)

by Ellory



Series: Pureblood Wizarding Culture [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Aristocracy, F/M, Pregnancy, Pureblood Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 06:23:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12006927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellory/pseuds/Ellory
Summary: Life had surprised him in the best way.





	The Only Woman He Ever Saw (Opened Up His Eyes)

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on fanfiction.net.

Harry Potter bit his tongue to keep from yelling as wizards and witches stalked him through the corridors at Hogwarts. Now that the ex-Minister for Magic and several Aurors had seen Voldemort, everyone who had spent the past year slandering him wanted to slither into his good graces. 

“Like groveling Death Eaters,” Harry muttered. A quick glance assured him that no one had been close enough to hear his comment; still, that didn’t stop him from wincing. He had to be doubly cautious about everything he said from now on. Being Lords Potter and Black (Duke of Gryphon’s Eyrie and Duke of the Misty Isles) meant twice the scrutiny and nitpicking from people who didn’t know him. And that was on top of being the boy-who-lived.

He gripped his book bag tighter as he dodged a group of gaping first years and entered the library. The Ravenclaws were just as bad as the other houses and wouldn’t let him study in peace. The common room was constant mayhem. Today was the weekly Wizarding Chess Tournament, and Harry couldn’t even hear himself think. He was beginning to understand why Hermione Granger became so annoyed when she tried to study there.

Only someone with a death wish would bother him in the library. Madam Pince was worse than Filch and Snape combined; even Dumbledore trod lightly in her territory. At least she discriminated against everyone equally.

“Peace and quiet at last,” Harry whispered as he bypassed a table of his fellow Ravenclaws.

Harry turned at the end of the Divination section—no one would think to look for him there, right?—and paused when he saw a strawberry-blonde witch in Ravenclaw robes seated at a table covered in books. Why had Hermione taught Luna Lovegood that hair-coloring potion again? He had lost count of how many times she had changed it in the past week. “At least it’s not the tear-inducing neon teal it was this morning,” he muttered. 

He sat down at the table behind hers. “Do me a favor, yeah? If anyone asks, I’m not here.” The strawberry-blonde hair swayed in response to Luna’s nod. Harry blinked for a moment as he noticed its length; he hadn’t known it was so long when she didn’t have it twisted up around her wand. His eyes trailed from the end of it to her bum, which he had no business ogling.

Shrugging, Harry shifted around and removed his Defense book from his bag. Snape’s latest assignment was ridiculously long, and he wasn’t all that enthused about it. Besides, it wasn’t like Snape would mark his essay fairly anyway. So why should he even bother completing the assignment? Flitwick’s face and Hermione’s rants appeared in his mind. Right then—he remembered now. Maybe a miracle would happen and he would actually learn something from the git.

He snorted in disbelief. “Like that’ll ever happen.”

Harry stabbed his quill into his inkwell, withdrew it, and then began writing. His lips twitched, and he chuckled to himself as he recalled how his handwriting used to resemble a chicken that had stepped in ink and strutted atop the parchment. He hadn’t minded it—despite Snape’s disparagement—until he received the Marauder’s Map from Fred and George Weasley. Prongs had brilliant handwriting; once Harry knew Prongs was his father, he spent hours dedicated to practicing his penmanship. Now he could mimic his father’s handwriting perfectly, which made him feel a little bit closer to someone he couldn’t really remember but loved deeply. 

And if his new essays, with a mimicry of his father’s handwriting, made Snape tremble with rage, and McGonagall get all teary-eyed, all the better.

“Ugh. Cramp,” Harry whispered, before setting down his quill long enough to massage his hand. Muggle pens were easier to use. He still preferred the quills. Did all Snape’s essays have to be so blasted long? He probably just wanted more room to write condescending remarks. Pausing only to periodically stretch his arms and roll his shoulders, Harry kept working on the essay. He was just finishing the five feet of parchment when quiet footsteps reached his ears. Harry put down his quill and closed his inkwell. 

He glanced up to see three blushing Hufflepuffs, one Ravenclaw, and two Gryffindors; they were all half-blood witches and in their third and fourth years, if he remembered correctly. Harry sighed and closed his eyes. This was the second time the witches had cornered him this week. He tried to dodge the packs of girls who were interested in him, but he couldn’t leave the Map out in plain sight—not unless he wanted someone to confiscate it. Harry admired a girl who went after what she wanted, but he had already told them he wasn’t interested! He was so sick and tired of people not listening to him!

“Harry, I was wondering if—”

“Um, Harry, would you—?”

“It’s a Hogsmeade weekend tomorrow and—”

“Harry! I love—”

Their voices grew continuously louder as they fought for his attention by interrupting and speaking over each other.

A loud thump sounded behind him. Harry glanced over his shoulder to see two small hands pressed against opposite sides of a very thick tome. The spine was tilted mostly away from him, but he could just make out the words Moste Pure of Blood.

“Duke Potter isn’t here at present,” a low, melodious voice stated. It sent shivers down his spine.

As the witches gaped, mouths moving soundlessly, Harry realized that the slender witch in Ravenclaw robes wasn’t Luna after all. He blushed at the blunder. How did he miss that? Now that he was less harried and no longer dreading the essay, he could see that she was shorter, thinner, and her hands ended in elegantly manicured fingernails—not bitten off nails covered in ink stains.

“I can see him,” the Ravenclaw who had been silent until this point stated. Wasn’t she one of the girls who bullied Luna? If so, that only made her more unappealing.

His defender lifted her chin and managed to look down her nose at the girl while still sitting. “I’m quite sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her tone of voice put Draco Malfoy to shame. 

Harry liked her sass. Sirius had said Lily Evans was sassy. Maybe it was a weakness of Potter men.

The two Gryffindor girls in the group spluttered and flushed. Harry knew they had introduced themselves more than once, but he never remembered their names; he always did his best to forget any encounter they had. “We’re not stupid, Astoria.” They spat her name. “Harry’s sitting behind you.” 

Harry didn’t think they were twins, but they spoke as if they shared the same brain. It was creepy. When Fred and George acted or spoke in unison, it felt natural. These girls seemed like robots or something. It aggravated him. Then again, Fred and George didn’t tend to stalk him, so he might be biased. He supposed he owed them a miniscule amount of gratitude for informing him of his champion’s identity, though.

Astoria Greengrass’s reputation was contradictory. He’d heard that she was more brainless than Pansy Parkinson (who was smarter than people thought) and free with her body. He had never believed it. She was a pureblood witch. The Greengrasses had always been one of the more powerful Neutral families in Europe. She had even honored his request when he hadn’t even known he was speaking to her, so she took pureblood hierarchy and tradition to heart. Astoria didn’t seem like the type of witch who would sully herself, her honor, or her family, Harry concluded. Especially not if she read pureblood etiquette books in her free time.

“I’ve already said Duke Potter isn’t present. I detest repeating myself. Do try to pay attention, if you can manage it,” Astoria said. She placed the book she had been perusing on top of the nearest stack.

The Hufflepuffs sneaked past the distracted girls. “Um, Harry?” He ignored them. “Can we talk to you?” He continued to pretend they didn’t exist. Finally, fire engine red, they fled.

The blonde Gryffindor snapped, “Stop lying, Astoria! I’m so sick of your attitude!”

The Ravenclaw’s eyes narrowed. “We all know you’re not as perfect as you pretend to be,” she hissed. Her features twisted, doing a fair impression of Umbridge. Did she think that would make her more attractive? Anyone with a brain knew he hated bullies.

Harry fingered his wand. He didn’t want to intrude if he wasn’t needed, because it would imply that he didn’t think Astoria could handle herself. However, he was prepared to interfere if they got crass or violent. It was clear the three witches had a pack mentality and, come to think of it, he had never heard a single pureblood repeat one of the rumors about Astoria. They knew the truth.

“I’ve no need for such a pretense, I assure you,” said Astoria as she packed her bag. She ignored the girls as if they were less than the dust beneath her shoes. Harry was impressed; it took a lot of self-control to turn the other cheek.

“Stop playing innocent!” the red-haired Gryffindor shouted. “We know that you spent the night with Roger Davies after the Veela left at the end of the Yule Ball! Marietta saw you sneak into the Head Boy chambers right before curfew.” Her words echoed through the library.

Astoria gasped.

Harry did some quick mental calculations using the minimal information he had of her family and repressed a wince when he reached the probable solution. Roger Davies was one of the Loyal House of Greengrass’s vassals. He must’ve sat vigil with Lady Astoria Greengrass on the anniversary of her mother’s death. Her sister Daphne had surely been present as well; Marietta must have not seen her enter Davies’ chambers. 

The library was still for the five seconds it took Harry to shoot to his feet. His chair crashed to the floor, and his hand ached from clutching his wand. How dare she? As the blood drained from Astoria’s face, Harry bit his tongue to dam the tidal wave of insults that sought to escape. Sinking to their level wouldn’t help the situation.

“That is enough.” 

Harry had learned from Sirius’s death, and now his rage was still and soft-spoken. He couldn’t afford to react with his heart, because not using his head brought nothing but despair. 

The three witches paled and swayed, gazes locked on Harry. His jaw clenched when they didn’t apologize to Astoria. They flinched. Harry didn’t care if he was frightening them; their lack of honor was appalling. 

“As a witness to this vicious crime, I declare you in Lady Astoria Greengrass’s debt. Failure to repair any damage you’ve caused her and her reputation will result in your expulsion.” He sounded like Penelope Clearwater on her most pompous days. There wasn’t anything he could do about that, though. Formal reprimands required formal language.

“You can’t . . .” The Ravenclaw looked like she was torn between vomiting and fainting.

“I assure you, he can,” Astoria whispered. Her shoulders were squared, as if for battle, which pushed her chest forward. Harry couldn’t help but notice that it was nice, as was the rest of her. “Duke Potter has already invoked the Debt of Honor, as outlined in Hogwarts: A History, and Hogwarts immediately registers debts. Lord Gryffindor couldn’t abide people without honor.”

How had he missed seeing her all these years? Harry wondered. She was riveting, and not just physically!

The Ravenclaw succumbed to her nerves and crumpled to the floor. Her collapse revealed Madam Pince, who stood with her arms crossed over her chest. Her gaze was a dagger of ice that penetrated the three interlopers and froze them solid. “This is a place of learning, not malicious gossiping and false accusations,” she said. “Remove yourselves at once.” She pointed at the girl on the floor and said, “And take her with you.”

He knew this was the best place to hide. Madam Pince didn’t tolerate rubbish. Honestly, Harry was surprised it had taken her almost four minutes to end the disruption. She must have been back in the Restricted Section.

The girls scurried to obey her, tears dripping down their faces as they struggled to drag their friend from the room. Harry didn’t feel an ounce of pity for them; they brought to mind all the times Dudley and his gang had assaulted Harry when he was younger. He loathed bullies.

Astoria’s hands trembled as she picked up her bag. It didn’t take a genius to guess why; everyone in the library would’ve heard the girls’ accusations. Harry scoffed at the mere thought of such a thing. She wasn’t going to stay back there and hide, he realized. She wasn’t going to let them make her into a victim. Astoria’s fortitude continued to impress him.

Harry put the few items on the table into his bag and closed it. “May I carry your bag?”

Her jade green eyes cut to him. “Why?”

Harry wasn’t thick enough to think she was talking about the bag. “They attacked you because you were doing me a favor. I’m sorry my presence led to”—he flailed one hand—“that.” The witches had been annoying before, but he hadn’t expected them to be cruel as well. Besides, Astoria hadn’t owed him anything. They weren’t classmates or best friends, but she fulfilled his request anyway.

“Very well.”

Astoria extended her bag and Harry looped it over his shoulder to rest beside his own. She stared at his face when he offered her his arm, but eventually seemed to find what she sought. What was she looking for? Astoria placed her arm atop his, showcasing its slenderness when compared to his own. The tips of her fingernails barely met his wrist.

“Where would you like to go?” asked Harry.

“Lunch will be acceptable, Duke Potter,” Astoria said.

Harry grinned at the blatant hint. “I’m afraid the Hogsmeade weekend doesn’t start until tomorrow. Is dinner in the Great Hall all right? Lunch tomorrow will be memorable.” He was starting to get the feeling that anything involving Astoria would be memorable.

They stepped out of the aisle and into the main part of the library. Students all over the room craned their necks and spoke in hushed tones as they observed Harry and Astoria.

“And please call me Harry.” It was the least he could do after all she had suffered on his account. Besides, he wanted to know if it would sound as good as his last name did as it spilled from her lips.

Astoria’s arm tensed, but she didn’t miss a step as they kept walking toward the exit. She glanced up at him from the corner of her eye; her stare was intense, as if she believed she could see inside his head and view his intentions first hand. That would be impressive, seeing as Harry wasn’t even quite sure what his intentions were yet. 

A smile finally curved her lips. “That is acceptable, Harry. Despite the imprudent timing”—she paused to indicate their large audience and the events of the past half-hour—“I give you leave to address me by my given name.”

She wasn’t the first pureblood witch to do so, but Harry felt pleasure thrill through him anyway. Lady Astoria Greengrass made her seem leagues away. Lady Astoria made her seem real: here and now.

Soft voices carried from the nearest table. “What is this, a play?”

“Nobody cares about stuff like that anymore.”

“What? Were we transported to the past? People don’t really talk like that.”

Harry rolled his eyes. He was starting to understand why Muggle-borns and half-bloods got on the purebloods’ nerves so often. He and Astoria were being mocked for being courteous. Ridiculous! Who criticized people for being polite?

Once they left the library, he breathed a sigh of relief. At least the other students hadn’t been talking about Astoria’s supposed tryst with Davies. His dislike for Marietta Edgecombe, which was intense after her betrayal of the Defense Association, rose to a fever pitch. He couldn’t imagine a scenario where she would feel the need to spread such vile filth. Whatever messed up reason she might have, it couldn’t possibly be justified. Astoria had only been thirteen at the time, after all.

People in the corridors stopped and stared as they walked past. It was annoying, but Harry had grown used to the excessive amount of attention, no matter how much he might loathe it. Astoria didn’t wilt beneath the scrutiny, which only increased his opinion of her. She had courage aplenty. 

They reached the Great Hall at the same time as Draco Malfoy, who performed a double take upon spotting them. He gave Harry a mocking, amused smile, as if he knew something Harry didn’t. Then he nodded brusquely before brushing past. Harry spared him a brief glance; he only gave a passing thought to Malfoy’s smirk, as it was regularly bestowed upon him.

“Potter’s acting like a proper pureblood? The world must be ending!” Astoria whispered with a teasing smile.

Harry laughed. Her impersonation was closer than he had thought a girl would get; then again, Malfoy’s voice wasn’t deep. “His next thought was probably, ‘How did he manage to get such a beautiful witch as his dinner companion? Stupid Scarhead!’”

She didn’t blush, but she did smile wider. “Pretty compliments won’t get you anywhere, Duke Harry.”

“The compliments aren’t pretty. You are,” he retorted. That was horrible. Hermione was right; he was hopeless at flirting.

Astoria arched an eyebrow. “Only pretty?”

He led her to the Ravenclaw table, glancing toward it only long enough to ensure they wouldn’t collide with anyone. He had already embarrassed himself more than enough for one day. “The true adjective that comes to mind is more commonly a verb. Given the debacle in the library . . .” 

“If you whisper it, I daresay no one else will hear. Problem solved.” 

Luckily, the majority of the students hadn’t arrived yet, so they didn’t have any trouble claiming choice seats. After depositing their bags on the floor, Harry leaned over until his lips almost touched her ear and said, “You look ravishing, Astoria.” She really did. He had a pressing urge to feather his hands through her hair and entwine it about his fingers. Then he would tug lightly, bare her throat and—well, that wasn’t helping. 

There was something compelling about her silent strength. It drew his attention more sharply than her fit form. She didn’t try to stand out or be anything other than what she was: a Neutral pureblood witch.

Her smile was stunning. “You look handsome tonight, Harry.”

He lifted her hand and kissed it gallantly, shocking Terry Boot, who had just sat down across from them. “We make quite a pair.” Astoria’s face blanked at the comment. What had he said wrong? 

Her eyes stared into his own. A few moments later she said, “You really mean that.”

“Of course I do,” he replied. Harry had meant it jokingly, but the thought of being paired with her wasn’t unpleasant. She intrigued him, and little other than Voldemort’s return had aroused his interest in over a year. 

“I had no idea. . . .”

A wall toppled behind Astoria’s eyes, and the burning emotions housed there made it feel as if a Bludger had just pummeled him. Many witches had professed their love for him, but he had never seen proof of it; Harry could see love in Astoria’s eyes. She had never spoken of it, and he wondered if she ever would have if the events earlier in the afternoon hadn’t occurred, or whether she would have gathered her courage and committed some brave and desperate act to get his attention.

The love in her eyes was tortured and unrequited as of now. Harry hated causing others pain. “I’m sorry, Astoria. I didn’t know.” Of the countless rumors that reached his ears, there hadn’t even been a whisper of her feelings for him.

“There was no way for you to know.” 

Harry squeezed her hand. “I’d like to get to know you, Lady Astoria.” He didn’t love her now. How could he, when he barely knew her? But Harry knew enough to guarantee that he wanted to learn more about her. Astoria’s physical beauty was present for the whole world to see; if her inner beauty was equal to it, he couldn’t imagine himself not returning her love someday.

Astoria peeked down at their joined hands and finally blushed for him. “I find that solution delightful, Duke Harry.”

She didn’t voice the words he knew were etched into her soul, and Harry was grateful for that. He didn’t want to hear them until he was able to wholeheartedly repeat them back to her. Dad, he thought, I’m as inept as you first were with Mum. Do me a favor and send me some luck. I think I’ll need it.

* * *

Harry Potter pulled his wife closer to his chest, rubbing one hand over her stomach. A little foot kicked against his palm, and the grin on Harry’s face was blinding. After three years of peace, he was finally going to be a father. He finally had a family of his own. “Hey, little man,” he whispered. “Are you going to make an appearance soon? You’ve kept us waiting an extra two weeks already.”

The baby kicked again.

Astoria Potter groaned and carefully rolled over, so that her swollen stomach rested between them. “Why couldn’t our first one have been a scholar, Harry? No, you had to make a Quidditch player in me. A Beater, by the feel of him.”

She was so beautiful. Harry blushed, ducked his head, and grinned. His other hand tangled in her strawberry-blonde hair. He gave her a loving kiss. “Sorry.” Not really, though. He would never be sorry about making a family with her. How could he ever regret a dream that came true?

“I don’t believe you,” huffed Astoria, eyes sparkling.

That was because she knew him so well. Laughing, Harry buried his face in her hair. “You’re right. I’m not. You’re giving me a family, Astoria. The next one can be a scholar. This is my son, you know. He’s supposed to play Quidditch. He’s got to be strong so he can protect his brothers, but mostly his sisters, from anyone who wants to hurt them, or flirt with them.” One child would never be enough. Harry had too much love to give.

Astoria snickered and carded her fingers through his hair. “So your daughters are going to attract unwanted suitors, are they? What makes you think that?” She scratched his scalp; it sent shivers down his back. He loved it when she did that.

She wasn’t serious, was she? Harry stared at her as if she had just declared her tarot cards were useless. “Well, duh, Astoria! Haven’t you ever looked in a mirror?” Astoria was stunning, everything about her appealed to him. Winning her betrothal contract by Disarming Draco Malfoy was the luckiest happenstance of his life. “Our daughters—plural, of course—are going to have men after them like crazy. Is the name Draco Malfoy ringing any bells?”

It was only now, years later, that he was able to joke about almost losing her to his rival. At the time, it had caused Harry and Astoria nothing but pain.

Blushing, Astoria kissed him. It didn’t last nearly long enough. “I never loved him. He was never you, Harry. All I’ve ever wanted was you. You’re the only one I’ve ever loved,” she confessed. “Then when my father signed the betrothal contract Malfoy offered because he was Heir of one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight . . . well, I thought I’d lost you.”

She would never lose him.

He could easily remember how irritated he had been to see Astoria all dressed up and in another wizard’s arms. That was the night he had realized he had succeeded in falling in love with her. It was downright embarrassing that it had taken him so long to be sure, especially since Professor Flitwick had assigned Harry as her official upperclassman tutor. Not that Astoria needed much help. She was brilliant, as was the hallmark of their House. 

He hadn’t wanted to lead her on, though. Not when he knew beyond a doubt that she loved him. Harry had to be sure of his own feelings before saying anything.

And just when he managed to garner the courage to ask her about courting seriously, her betrothal to Draco was announced in the Daily Prophet. That was horrible. 

The first night he was at Grimmauld Place, Sirius Black, his godfather, had nudged him with a bony elbow and winked. “I can already tell you’ll take after your dad. Can’t blame you, Prongslet. Beautiful and smart is a rare combination. When you find her, if you really love her, treat her right. Keep it in your trousers until you’re bonded, all right?”

He had thought he would die of embarrassment, Harry remembered fondly.

Harry blushed at the memory and traced his fingertips across Astoria’s stomach, grin widening with each kick against his palm. Harry had waited, as Sirius advised, despite the overwhelming temptation on occasion. He needed her—always. It was worth it. Waiting to consummate their love was worth it because it let them bond, instead of marry. It soothed the niggling doubts in the back of his mind that she would eventually get tired of him, or that he wouldn’t be able to make her happy. Their magic had been entwined together, strengthening both of them, and guaranteed that the child in her stomach was his.

Not that he thought Astoria would ever cheat on him, because he didn’t. She was too pure for those type of thoughts to even enter her head.

However, after losing so much in his life, the added reassurance of her love and safety, which radiated through him, eased his mind. His orphan self felt comforted. The little child who thought everyone who loved him would either die or abandon him of their own free will trusted in Astoria. He trusted her completely. It was a scary thought some days, because absolute trust led to the worst of betrayals. She wouldn’t betray him. Harry knew she wouldn’t.

“Harry, you know I love you. More than anything in the world.” Astoria pressed herself against him. “I never apologized before, but it was wrong of me to not tell my father I was in love with you. I just—I thought you would never choose me. I thought you’d break my heart.”

The betrothal contract with Draco broke his. Harry would never tell her that. He would never tell her about the nights he spent in the Room of Requirement, downing bottles of Firewhisky. It hadn’t made him forget reality; it only gave him blinding headaches and helped him become overly acquainted with a toilet. He hadn’t handled the news maturely. 

“There’s nothing to forgive, Astoria. How could I want you to apologize for anything that led us here? You’re my wife, my lady.” He slid his hand down her arm and grasped her left hand, raising it to kiss the jeweled heirloom ring—the same bonding ring his mother had worn. “You were my first everything. You’re carrying my child, love. You’ve given me a family.” Harry’s jaw hardened. “Never apologize for that.”

The thought of anything tearing his family away from him was the source of Harry’s worst nightmares. Because if he had learned anything in life, it was that happiness was fleeting. Maybe he would get lucky for once.

Astoria squinted at him in the evening light, and then nodded. “All right, Harry. All right.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and tugged him close for a kiss. Kissing Astoria was like coming home; it was safe and loving, but had undertones of passionate longing. When she finally withdrew, Astoria smirked at the look he gave her. Harry stared at her as if she were the only woman he ever saw, and he knew she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Harry’s breath stuttered in his chest and he stroked a hand down Astoria’s back. The smile that lit Astoria’s face made him ache. “I love you.” The simple words made her so happy. He knew she was possessive of him, worried that he—the Lord Conqueror—would slip through her fingers even now. She still woke up from nightmares and reached for him with desperate hands, as if he had vanished from their bed.

That year they spent on the run still haunted her. It was all his fault.

Cho Chang had tried to catch his eye in fifth year, after Cedric Diggory’s death, to no avail; Luna Lovegood was his friend and he refused to consider anyone who bullied her. Romilda Vane had attempted to dose him with a love potion in sixth year when he was visiting the Gryffindor common room, and caught Ron Weasley instead. And Ginny Weasley had sought to win his heart out of a misguided sense of hero-worship, and in repayment for saving her life. 

Ginny was the only one who hadn’t sparked a sharp, bitter resentment in Astoria’s eyes. Astoria and he had sat down with Ginny and explained that they were together, she owed Harry nothing, and that would never change. The relief on Ginny’s face had been painful to see; she had burst into tears and flung herself at them, thanking them for releasing her from a pureblood maiden’s debt bond. Harry hadn’t known at the time what it was, but Astoria had supplied the words he needed to say to fix the whole situation. 

Astoria cuddled against him. “I know, Harry. But never forget that I loved you first.”

The Elder Wand appeared in his hand without a single word on his part. It returned itself to him in times of high emotion or danger, regardless of how often he left it in Dumbledore’s tomb. Maybe he would stop taking it there. Maybe it came back for a reason. “You’re mine.” It was a statement of fact, nothing less.

“Of course I am,” agreed Astoria as she eased the Elder Wand out of his hand and put it on the bedside table. “I am, Harry. That’s something you never have to worry about. I swear it.” She kissed him with loyal devotion this time, no hint of teasing to be found. 

Harry whispered, “Yeah, okay,” against her neck as he buried his face against it. 

“Oof!”

The baby kicked hard, drawing Harry’s gaze down to her stomach. “Hey, little man. Are you ready to come out yet? We love you. We want to meet you.” The baby stilled. “I guess not,” Harry sighed. Each day past the due date was excruciating; nine months was already long enough! “Stop hogging your mum,” muttered Harry.

Astoria laughed and ruffled Harry’s hair. “From what I’ve heard, your dad was a total mum’s boy. This is what you get for deciding to name our firstborn James Sirius.”

“Hey!” Harry wrinkled his nose with false affront. “Sirius left his mum because she was horrid; I figured it would balance out.” None of his children would have a bad mother.

“And then went to live with your grandmother, clinging to his favorite older cousin as much as James did,” Astoria retorted with a smile. “Let’s face it, this kid is going to be a total mum’s boy. It must run in the Potter genes. He hasn’t even been born yet and he doesn’t want to share me.”

Harry pouted and then poked her stomach. “Then you’re giving me a daughter next. As soon as possible.” He winked. “And she’ll be a daddy’s girl. As head of this family, I’ve decided it shall be so!” he declared with a cheeky grin.

Astoria snorted. Her curls tangled together as she giggled in his arms. “And what, oh head of the family, will this daughter I must provide as soon as possible—after birthing your heir—be named? Or do I not get any say in this?”

The solemnity of Harry’s face was uncharacteristic, as his words echoed through their bedchamber. However, he had long ago decided what he would name his firstborn daughter, and he knew Astoria, of all people, would never disagree with it. “Lilith Amaranth Potter,” he breathed. After his mother and hers, who both died to keep their children safe.

Silence hung in the air, before Astoria shattered it. “That’s . . .”

“Perfect,” Harry finished for her. “I know it doesn’t bring up pleasant memories, love.” He kissed her cheek. “But I’ll never forget that she died to keep you safe, so that you could return to me. When Bellatrix dragged you out of the dungeon in Malfoy Manor, I thought . . .” Harry shuddered. He remembered throwing himself at the door, desperate to break it down. All he ended up accomplishing was dislocating his shoulder. “If your mum hadn’t been able to fight Bellatrix off until Dobby arrived—” He choked on terror. Astoria couldn’t die. He was the Master of Death. She wasn’t going anywhere.

“I—” Astoria started crying and fought against the blankets, pushing them away and sliding out of his arms. “I . . . I have to go to the bathroom,” she finished, an obvious lie.

“I’ll keep the bed warm for you,” Harry said, worried eyes on his wife. Whenever he brought up that day, Astoria broke down and left the room. She had never given him all the details, and he would never ask her; the traumatized look in her eyes when Dobby freed them told of the horrors she had faced. He had been an infant when he saw his mum die, and the Dementors still brought the memory forth. How much worse must it be since she was old enough to take in every detail?

Astoria doubled over and yelped. She clutched her stomach as her water broke. “The baby!”

Harry scrambled to her side. This was his fault. He shouldn’t have upset her. What if something went wrong? “Everything’s going to be fine, Astoria,” Harry said. The Elder Wand was in his hand again. “I promise.”

“Daphne,” Astoria gasped, as Harry settled her back against the pillows. “Get Daphne.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to St. Mungo’s?” he asked. Since Astoria found out she was pregnant, she had been insistent on giving birth in the manor. She claimed it would be safer, but wasn’t allowed to give him an explanation of why. All she would say is that it had something to do with Morgana’s Secret Arts. While Harry respected Astoria’s sister, Daphne was still in training. She wasn’t a certified Healer yet. What if she made a mistake?

Astoria grabbed his wrist. “Promise me, H-Harry.” She whimpered, tears rolling down her cheeks. “Get Daphne. No hospitals.”

If he knew why she was so adamant, it would be so much easier to give his word. As it was, he would just have to trust her. “I promise.” He snapped his fingers.

Dobby’s widow appeared at his side. “Master?”

“Do what you can to help. I’m getting her sister.”

“Of course, Master. Taffy being helping the Mistress.”

Harry kissed Astoria’s sweaty forehead and sprinted for the nearest fireplace. He almost dropped the tin of Floo powder three times before he successfully opened it and threw some on the crackling flames. Once they turned green, he yelled “Longbottom Manor!” and thrust his head inside.

Neville dropped his quill. “Harry?” He jumped up from the desk in his study. “What’s wrong? It’s almost midnight!”

“Daphne. Astoria needs Daphne. Now.” His fingers scrabbled at the floor before the fireplace. He wanted to take Astoria to St. Mungo’s, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t forgive him if he did. Why did witches have to have rituals and Secret Arts and other things that terrified him? He needed to know! Information kept him from falling apart. He had always needed to know why, how, what, when, where, and dozens of other questions. That’s why the blasted hat had screamed “Ravenclaw!” before it even touched his head.

“I’ll get her, Harry. We’ll be there as quickly as we can,” Neville assured him before hurrying from the room.

Harry ran back to the master bedroom. Astoria’s head thrashed against the pillows as Taffy wiped her brow. She was muttering in a language Harry didn’t know; the syllables rolled from her tongue. Her magic reacted, but Harry had no idea what it was doing. Her stomach rippled against her soaked nightgown. Her feet kicked. “What’s happening?”

“Taffy is forbidden to tell Master. Master needs not be worrying. Mistress is strong.” Taffy grinned at Harry. “Young Master is being very powerful.”

“Move, Harry!” He stepped to the side, allowing Daphne to pass him. “Now get out.”

“What?” She was mental if she thought he was leaving!

Daphne turned on him. He had never seen her angry before; it was a fearsome sight. “You can’t be here, Harry. You’ll make it worse. Go keep Neville company!” she ordered.

“How could I possibly make it worse?” He wasn’t the one who was pregnant! What did his presence matter? He wanted to be there when the baby was born. Harry crossed his arms, prepared to stand his ground.

“Because your magic has been touched by Death twice! I’m not a fool, Harry. I know you have the Hallows. Do you think Death wants to be enslaved?” Daphne raised her hand, as if she would dearly like to slap some sense into him. “I’m not taking any chances that Death will steal my sister or her son to free himself from never-ending bondage to your bloodline. So, for the last time, Harry, get out.”

He stumbled from the room to the bathroom down the hall. Harry kneeled before the toilet and threw up everything he had eaten for dinner. His skin felt cold and clammy. Once his son was born, Death would be permanently bound to the Potter bloodline? His position as Master of Death was hereditary? “Did you know?” he croaked, when Neville entered the room with a concerned look on his face.

Neville nodded and rocked back on his heels. “Daphne shared Astoria’s concerns with me.”

“Astoria’s concerns?” She hadn’t said anything to him! There hadn’t even been an inkling to lead him to suspect she was concerned about anything like this. Why hadn’t she told him? Didn’t she trust him?

Neville hauled Harry to his feet and dragged him over to the lounge. They collapsed side-by-side on the couch. “She didn’t want you to spend nine months agonizing over something you can’t control, Harry. She knew you would tear yourself to pieces. All she wanted was for you to be happy, to keep smiling at her.”

Harry folded his knees against his chest like a child. “And if she dies?”

“She won’t.”

His chuckle was bitter and lacked all humor. “You can’t know that.” It would be his fault if Astoria died. He would be a failure. Dad died to protect Mum; he didn’t kill her. Harry swallowed his gorge, not desiring another trip to the bathroom.

“Astoria won’t die, Harry,” Neville said patiently.

He smushed his cheek against his knee and stared at his friend. “What makes you think that?” Harry was desperate enough for any reassurance at this point. Please, Mother Magic, please don’t take her away.

“Because she knows you hate being left behind.”

Tears fell intermittently as the hours passed. Harry’s knees ached, but he didn’t loosen his grip. The parts of him that weren’t crumbling to pieces were monitoring the wards, which kept shifting and flickering. They grew stronger, changing from a dull gray to a piercing ivory as the night dragged on. Then, just as the sun crested the horizon, stinging his gritty eyes, Daphne walked into the room. She slumped against the wall, exhaustion in every line of her body, wearing the most tender smile Harry had ever seen on her face.

“Well,” she prompted, “aren’t you going to see your family, Harry?”

His knees popped as he stretched out his legs and stood. “Is she . . . ?”

“They’re fine, Harry. It went well. The danger’s passed.”

The danger had passed. The danger had passed. Thank you, Mother Magic! Harry walked, then ran, back to the master bedroom. He stopped at the threshold, heart in his throat. The bedding had been changed, as had Astoria’s nightgown. She was pristine. Her hair was in one long braid. She sat against the pillows, a baby with fuzzy black hair lying on her chest.

“Harry.” His name was filled with gentle love. “Come meet your son.” Astoria held out one hand, beckoning him closer.

Harry walked over and took it in his. She was still alive. He closed his eyes and whispered a prayer of gratitude. The baby fussed, and Harry couldn’t help the breathless laugh that escaped when he saw that his son had Astoria’s eyes, just as Harry had gotten his mother's eyes. “He has your eyes.”

“I know.” Astoria petted the baby’s hair. “Mother Magic heard us.”

His desperate, oft repeated prayer of the past several hours echoed in his head: Please, Mother Magic, please don’t take her away. “Yes, she did.” He almost couldn’t get the words out, he was so choked up with awe and wonder and thankfulness.

Astoria took the baby’s little hand in her own and brushed it against Harry’s. “This is your dad, James. He’s going to spoil you rotten. He’s going to buy you a broomstick much too early, and teach you to fly it recklessly. He’s going to protect you from everything.” She kissed him. “And he’s going to love you with his whole heart.”

He didn’t think he had any tears left, but he felt them trickle down his cheeks. He never would have imagined his life being happy after losing his parents, a miserable childhood with the Dursleys, the war, and almost losing Astoria three times. Harry brushed a knuckle against a baby’s soft cheek and whispered, “Hello, James, welcome to the family.” 

Life had surprised him in the best way.


End file.
